The day of the dinner my mom came home earlier than usual to get ready.
She ran from end to end of our small apartment like a Roomba, aimlessly trying to make sure everything was perfect. I put on my nice dress and shoes, then spent the rest of the time studying for my math test the next day. After all, Elton Hunt might have money, but I still needed good grades.
At exactly ten past four we headed down to the lobby where a sleek, black BMW sedan was waiting for us. A man jumped out of the car and opened it for us, and while my mom got in like the perfect woman she was, I’m pretty sure I stood there gaping at how awesome this was for a minute before realizing I should try and do the same as my mom and getting in myself.
The seats were so soft, so plush, so comfortable. So much better than the seats in the odd taxi I’d been in, or my friend’s parents’ cars. I couldn’t stop stroking the leather, and while my mom redid her makeup, I just took in the atmosphere of this car.
The drive to the Hunt estate in Weston only took about half an hour, and when we finally got there, I felt my jaw drop once more.
We pulled through a security gate where the driver entered a code to get the gates to open. The driveway was at least three hundred feet long, lined with maple trees whose light brown and red leaves were just starting to fall gently onto the road in front of us. When we got to the end of the driveway, we were in front of the most amazing home I’d ever seen.
A cross between the old world style and the new, we pulled up past three full-sized garages, in front of a huge mahogany building that looked like a version of an old English estate home, but way more modern.
Luckily for me, I was so starstruck by the size of the house – it was bigger than my entire school, that much was obvious – that I didn’t make my first social faux-pas of the night by getting out of the car myself; instead I didn’t notice until the driver came out and opened the door for me that I was just looking out the side window of the car, wide eyed and in total awe of what I was seeing.
I’d read about places like these in books, I’d seen pictures of them on TV and in movies, but there was still a part of me that never really imagined people actually lived like this. Until now.
I barely realized that I was on my tip-toes the whole time, on edge, trying not to make any sudden movements or do anything that would draw attention to me. This wasn’t a situation I was comfortable with. This wasn’t me. This was rich-people life, and I wasn’t a rich person.
My mom went up to the front door, and I followed sheepishly behind her, simultaneously trying to look around at everything while also trying not to make it obvious that I was staring.
The front door opened noiselessly as we arrived on the stoop. That had to be magic. There was no way there was someone sitting there waiting for people to come up and opening the door for them.
As soon as we entered, a man in a suit greeted my mom with a nod. I barely noticed him though; instead every single inch of the incredible foyer captured my attention, it was like something out of a Disney movie. The mahogany hardwood floors went perfectly with the light orange walls and white elaborate cornices. A staircase lined with plush scarlet carpet led to the upper levels, and enormous rugs gave the whole room a cozy, warm feeling despite the enormous size and obvious wealth that had gone into it.
“Ms. Ressler, welcome. And this must be your daughter,” the man greeted us with the most stereotypically high class English accent. I smiled nervously.
“Yes, this is Tina. Tina, this is Mr. Andrews. He’s the man in charge of all the staff here, if you ever need anything, you can ask him.”
“It’s nice to meet you Mr. Andrews.”
“And you as well, Miss Ressler,” he replied with a small bow. I wanted to giggle into my hands, this was all so formal, but I figured that would probably be frowned upon and tried to put on a serious face, like I understood the gravity of just being in this house. He continued: “Mr. Hunt is currently in his study. Miss Ressler,” he added, referring to me, “his son is currently in the yard, if you wanted to meet someone your own age.”
“That sounds great,” my mom pitched in before I had a chance to answer. “I’ll go down to the study and see Elton, if you could take Tina down to meet Kiegan.”
“Of course, Ms. Ressler,” he replied, and before I knew what was happening my mom’s heels were clicking on the hardwood floor away from me, the sound getting softer with every passing step, and I was by myself with the butler in the middle of the most amazing room I’d ever stood in, in the home of one of the country’s most famous families.
“If you’ll follow me, Miss Ressler,” Mr. Andrews told me, leading me towards a hallway on the left.